


Work Song: A Confessional

by sugar_baby



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Remembers, Guilt, Hozier, Multi, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Songfic, Work Song, always has, always will, covers basically all the movies, from tfa through iw, minor peggy/steve, no smut in this sorry folks, not proofread i’ll do it in a bit yall, steve loves bucky, this is about bucky, this is loosely based off of hozier’s work song, this is steve’s ultimate ode to bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 14:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18100463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugar_baby/pseuds/sugar_baby
Summary: “My baby never fret noneAbout what my hands and my body doneIf the lord don't forgive meI'd still have my baby and my babe would have meWhen I was kissing on my babyAnd he put his love down soft and sweetIn the lowland plot I was freeHeaven and hell were words to meWhen my time comes aroundLay me gently in the cold dark earthNo grave can hold my body downI'll crawl home to him”





	Work Song: A Confessional

When I was going down, as much as I was weeping for Peg, you were still there as a ghost in the back of my mind. She was my girl, my one hope of normalcy, fire and authority to birth me anew. I had a dame over you for once, and it felt good, that hot envy. I loved her so much. She was my partner in crime.

But she was never my partner like you. She was new, and hard where most people were soft. But you were long and tough and through and through. You were comfort of a dull ache in my muscles after a hard day of training, not the sharp coldness from the prick of a needle. You were warm, and you always had me. Right from the very beginning. Right till the end of the line.

And right at the end of the line, my tears were more for you than her, and never for me, because you were my ghost and my wounds you left me were still so fresh. 

—-

They expected me to forget. Head trauma and cryofreeze and Brooklyn apartments I could never afford. But I was supersoldier to their time travel. I remembered. I couldn’t forget.

I couldn’t forget the red of her lipstick and the way her mouth looked when she smiled. And the way she broke me, with her eyes, over and over again. My one and only girl.

And all I could think was, hopelessly, _guess it’s not the end of the line._

And my weekends were Fight Club and Harry Potter and Men in Black, internet searches, senselessly, catching up, dull and aimless. Somehow, there was always a war to fight. Now, just bigger. Always bigger.

_his fingers were so close and i brushed them I BRUSHED THEM i felt his fleeting warmth one last time and he was gone and he was screaming and i saw the flash of his hair in uniform and my bucky was falling smoke was billowing twisted metal shrapnel blurring my vision it was grey it was all grey I COULD HAVE SAVED HIM i swear i could’ve just pushed myself a little harder sweat a little more and i could have my buck again feel his hands in mine his smile goddamn smile like the sun sweet jesus buck_

After New York I felt reborn. Recruited and used, but heroic, and I finally began to realize that this was still my city with its eclectic populance, even with my absensce, even with the change of scenery, there was hardly a change of pace. I spent time in Brooklyn, refamiliarizing. I met Sam. I read a lot.

And winter came. I couldn’t stand cold anymore. It made me think of you, and white, grey, gunmetal and gunpowder and _RED._ Those days doctors perched casually in comfy armchairs told me to push you away, focus on me. (And seriously, where had the prestige of a white-coated doctor gone?) It was recon missions and Natasha scolding me on stealth tactics and then

_BUCKY_

_And I was after you, tailing and careening and not focused on anything but your face and your voice and who the hell is Bucky_

_who the hell is Bucky who the hell is bucky who the hellisbuckywhothehellisbucky_

And you were gone.

Even broken and weeping in shards of glass on the floor, over my Bucky who is not Bucky, who did not see me and understand and rejoice, like I would have wanted it to go, who did not tug me into a hug fraught with traditional masculinity and then allow himself to soften into me. I was thinking, fuck, it’s not the end of the line. I have my city to fight for, I have my Bucky to fight for, I will find him, I will bring him back, I will make him whole again as best I can. I was ressurected for this. Nothing could keep me in the ground if my Bucky was still out there kicking.

—-

The only solace I found was the genuine spark in your eyes, when you lowered your fists minutely, when I saw the you trying to claw his way out finally make an appearance, however brief. And that I didn’t wake up dead after the fall. Just like you, just like you, I was still around after I should have croaked. It wasn’t the end of the line.

Peggy’s creation, Shield, was tainted from the start, as much as she tried and perservered and put all of her fire into it, it was tainted, and I had to burn it. I was losing her again, but I couldn’t spoil her memory by keeping an imposter alive. She was the most brilliant individual I knew.

And then you started… Inexplicably… Showing up. My Bucky had found me, curious and feral, adverse to touch, grey and white and gunmetal and _RED._ I tried to stay open for you, open my heart, let this new creature into my life. You were unattainable. In that way, nothing was different. Always unnattainable. 

And then, again, Tony almost ended the world. Sokovia was a nightmare I couldn’t unlive, and I was stuck, in a loop, living long past my own worth. I wondered why I still existed on this earth, why I hadn’t died long ago, but I would always remember anew, _Bucky, Bucky,_ so it’s not the end of the line. Even knowing the Soldier, the Asset, I still couldn’t blame you for a thing. I saw you break and reform, I saw you crying and _RED,_ struggling and snarling, an animal. I still loved you, even when my heart ached, your lack of memory seared every part of my body until again, again, _again,_ I felt new, raw, reborn.

This time, I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t trust. Peg’s legacy gone, tainted, soiled, my _Bucky_ destroyed so thoroughly inside and out, my team in shambles, there was nothing left to trust, nowhere to feel safe and secure doing cold nights. I was roaming, alone, unable to confide, unable to help my Bucky, completely handicapped from the world. I was some broken nomad, devoid of purpose, shambling like a dead man walking, only wanting to see you again. They told me Wakanda.

Wakanda. It was the only place I wanted to be. They were skeptical of me, and I was curt, blunt, desperate. I couldn’t help but be desperate. It wasn’t the end of the line, God damn it.

I couldn’t remember religion here, so senselessly being wrung through the same shocks of loss and renewal, death and rebirth, ressurection. There was no purpose. My only purpose was you. 

It was warm in Wakanda. I liked it there. As much as T’Challa tried to talk to me, Shuri poking fun at me, it was all white noise. White noise to the warmth I felt next to you.

They’d taken your arm. It was a cold shock, seeing you so incomplete, but I could also find solace, _damn Soviets,_ gone from my Bucky’s body for good. And I talked to you, about nothing in particular, but mostly about New York. About before. I longed for before, before when things were simpler, before when I had you, whole, when we were inseperable, _till the end of the line._ But you were still here. I remember when you first smiled at me. My mouth went dry and I was arrested in motion, completely still. You questioned my condition. I said I was in love.

You came back in pieces, the demeanor first, _the mouth on you,_ and then a few of the memories. You remember falling. You remember fourth of July. You remember enlisting. You remember your mother’s apartment. You remember my mother’s apartment. Blissfully, in bits and pieces, disjointed but there, _you remember me._

You don’t blame me for letting you fall. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. You do blame me for not finding you sooner. I should have known, before. I should have known it wasn’t the end of the line. I kick myself for it. In solitude, I really, _really_ kick myself for it.

They wanted you to fight. I protested. You weren’t back, not fully, couldn’t handle combat, even if it was the war of worlds. Especially if it was the war of worlds. But it was inevitable, and you were still the best shot I’d ever seen. They fashioned you a new arm, black and gold, instead of grey and red. It still felt wrong, dirty, another weapon given in order to fight, even in such different circumstances. I never wanted you to be a weapon again. I was happy to fight for you. Always.

And we were so, so close. I caught your eyes, burning, cutting through me, and all you could express to me was, _Steve, I don’t feel so hot,_ and I watched you fade before my eyes.

_i watched i watched there was nothing i could do i couldn’t think i couldn’t breathe and i fell, i knelt, everything screetching to a halt, every other concern gone as i wept on my knees, clutching at your falling ashes helplessly, bawling, inconsolable, transported_

It was Tony who found me, clapping a hand onto my shoulder, starling me so I whipped around and, face red, white, grey as gunmetal, nearly strangled him right there. But his eyes found mine, and said, _Cap, we’ve got work to do._ In his eyes, I could see the unspoken message, _Just us now._

And I felt it. The cold grip of a ressurection just beginning, for you. remaking myself, yet again, because I knew it. I knew. All I could think, finally coming back to the ground, setting my jaw, standing up,

_This isn’t the end of the line. Not yet._


End file.
